


Another Shade of Blue

by DEPECHEWIZARD



Series: Lunch Dates [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Homo, Hurt/Comfort, I'm building TENSION, Intrusive Thoughts, Julian has terrible anxiety don't ya know, M/M, Other, These two are hopelessly smitten w each other, catch Garak calling Julian 'dear' every fucking chance he gets, this will be part of a series, tw drug abuse, tw implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEPECHEWIZARD/pseuds/DEPECHEWIZARD
Summary: "'It pays to be cautious, he begins, setting down his mug. “We both know that life on this Federation space station is anything but a walk in the park, to employ a human expression-““Elim. I’m not suggesting that we get married, right here, right now in this Replimat. Just call me Julian. Please?”Garak appears to be surveying his adam’s apple with interest.“I’m simply seeking some assurance that you will be kept out of harm’s way, my dear Julian.” He takes a gulp of tea. "Don't change the subject though." Julian gives him a lopsided smile. "You must eat something. When did you last eat, my dear?'"________________________Their lunch dates can't exactly be called 'casual' anymore. The two of them have too many layers, built up and fortified with time, to knock through all at once. Even so, they give it a shot.





	Another Shade of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This piece takes place a few weeks or months (give or take, I don't care ;3) after the 'Woven' series. 
> 
> TW for drug abuse, descriptions of intrusive thoughts/anxiety, implied eating disorder. If you feel unsafe when these topics are mentioned, please don't read this fic. Have a talk with someone you trust, who has the spoons to listen.

_When he moves I watch him from behind/He turns and laughter flickers in his eyes/Intent and direct when he speaks, I watch his lips…/_

_In his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truth/He caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot/And everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blue/I saw him searching into you and ached a while…/_

_I watch his lips caress the glass,/_ _His fingers stroke its stem and pass/_ _To lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyes/_ _From a shadow by the stair/_

_I watch as he weeps unaware/_ _That I'm in awe of his despair, but I am there/_

**_-_ Yazoo, ‘Ode to Boy,’ (1982)**

* * *

Right on cue, Julian enters the Replimat, steering well clear of a gormless and woebegone Morn, hovering by the entrance.

He replicates a large Raktajino, and muddles his way between chairs and tables to find Garak.

Garak is at their usual table, sipping something from a mug. As he sees Julian, a small spark in his face seems to grow into a steady flame. His gift for obfuscation aside, Garak’s face tells Julian everything he needs at this point, in _this_ moment. His life now is stitched together with these moments, Garak in sharp focus at the centre of it all.

“My dear,” Garak purrs, rocking forwards in his seat to prop his elbows on the table, fingers neatly steepled. “It _really_ is a pleasure to see you.” He wiggles his tail against the leg of his chair. 

Julian loves these little quirks of Garak’s nature; his scales, the emotion in the sway of his tail, every flourish of his claws. They reveal the most captivating facets of Garak's existence; fundamentally different to the warm-blooded allure of a human. Julian loves the chill of Garak’s skin, and relishes in how easily he can warm Garak’s blood with his own heat. 

“Would you like some Tarkalean tea, Doctor?”

Julian shakes his head with affectionate incredulity. “Garak- _Elim_\- you can call me Julian, you know. You’re acting like I didn’t have to wake you up before my shift this morning.”

The little light in Garak’s eye seems to wink at him. He drops his voice and leans in further, so close he could count Julian’s lashes. 

“It pays to be _cautious_, he begins, setting down his mug. “We both know that life on this Federation space station is anything but a walk in the park, to employ a human expression-“

“Elim. I’m not suggesting that we get married, right here, right now in this Replimat. Just call me Julian. Please?”

Garak appears to be surveying his adam’s apple with interest. 

“I’m simply seeking some assurance that you will be kept out of harm’s way, my dear Julian.” He takes a gulp of tea. "Don't change the subject though." Julian gives him a lopsided smile. "You _must eat _something. When did you last eat, my dear?"

Julian freezes, just a little. His brain is working furiously, cornered in a back alley. Julian hates Garak witnessing him panic like this- and try to hide it.

"I ate this morning," he mutters, and Julian is sure, _that Garak is sure_, that he's lying. Garak can only sit in silent resignation as Julian nervously sips his Raktajino. Even so, after a handful of moments, it seems that he _has_ to say something.

"I will prepare something _succulent_ for you tonight," Garak says, neatly and firmly. "And you _will _eat it, yes?"

Julian rolls his eyes, but smiles despite it. He can’t expect any middle-aged Cardassian, let alone Garak, to set aside their pompous, blustering speech patterns. In Garak’s case, the grandiosity of it stirs something deep in Julian's stomach. _It shows that he cares._

His attention snaps back into place as Garak produces a hypospray from his pocket.

“_Garak._” His face crumples, just a little. “That’s a sedative. Where did you get it?”

Garak sighs a little as the hypo hisses. He stows it inside his jacket pocket. His fingers, quivering just a little only minutes ago, still completely. Garak takes another neat sip of tea, and smiles out at Julian from beneath his forehead ridges.

“From my personal supply. A _heavily_ rationed supply, I might add.” 

Julian isn’t placated. “You told me you’d run out, Elim.” 

Garak shakes his head a little. Julian isn’t sure exactly what it means; Garak’s grasp of human body language is tenuous at best. 

“Doctor. _Julian._” Garak begins; calm, his voice low. “I have this under control. The light in here is simply hurting my eyes.”

Julian pinches the bridge of his nose, just for one instant, his own eyes shut. “I told you I’d give you that laser treatment.” Garak smiles, as if to inject some relief into the conversation. This is has moved beyond flirting and into _real_ arguing, and it sends a shiver of foreboding up Julian’s spine.

“My dear, I think I would like to keep _my_ eyes far, _far_ away from any laser.”

Julian smiles again, a little quirk of his lips; tension breaking down.

“All the same, Garak, you need to ease up on the hypos, yeah?”

Garak nods primly; a patient behind a desk for a few seconds. Like a cautious cat, in one swift flash, Julian grasps Garak’s hand; fingers caressing his scales. 

“I’m saying this for your own sake. And because I _care.”_

Something- words, a sigh- seems to have stuck in Garak’s throat. 

“Before all of… _this_ happened ,” Julian continues, eyes like the stars: “We were discussing Prince Hamlet?” He laughs, lightly, and Garak’s smile reemerges from behind a rolling cloud. 

’The analogy regarding sleep and death, yes. Despite my obvious disappointment that the Prince fails to set aside his neuroses in order to tend to his family, the parallel between sleep and death is most pertinent.”

Julian looks straight into his eyes, Garak’s hand in his, and Garak knows that he too is remembering his wire implant. 

_“To sleep, perchance, to dream?” _Julian finds the thread and holds on. 

“Exactly,” Garak agrees. "To sleep is to free the tortured mind from burdens it feels in this life- in dying, in sleeping, one can shuffle out of life. Just as sleep can be merciful after a long time of hardship, a strenuous day; death is treated the same. Life is strenuous. Both sleep and death come as reprieves, though the latter is significantly less permanent in nature."

Julian doesn't reply for a little while. He's trying to take all of this for himself; truss it up in tissue paper and tuck it away safely for some lonely night he's bound to be trapped in again, eventually- _everyone leaves_, Julian.

His brain can't just go where it pleases, floating aimlessly down a river. He has an obligation to beat things back, and to purify with fire.

Garak is _too _exquisite; comely and finely honed. He continues as Julian listens, caught up in a flurry of thought that sets his insides shivering. 

"...Prince Hamlet describes a slow, agonizing journey towards death as “shuffling off this mortal coil," Garak says, with just a touch of relish. "Whether it is living in the world day to day, and ending these days with sleep, or departing this moral coil altogether; both represent, too, the movement of consciousness from the physical world, though in different ways." Julian nods stupidly, completely stupefied. "Sleep, like death, is a transition to a different state; a complete unawareness of the physical world around oneself- but unlike death, as I have said; sleep is temporary."

Julian manages, far too late, to come up with some kind of agreement.

"You're right." Garak lavishes him with his reptilian smile.

"We could treat death as a state from which one can return; hiding in death, just as a person may hide in sleep to escape hard truths with which they are faced."

"I don't know about that, Garak," Julian replies, finally. "Death is pretty permanent." Garak squeezes his hand just a little tighter.

"For the purposes of our conversations here, my dear, anything is possible, wouldn't you agree?"

* * *


End file.
